you see this world as a substance,
yet you miss all the fillers it was cut with,
you are too naïve:
in this world it’s a noose or a cutlass,
you won’t make it out here.
like I used to be, so fragile, so breakable
an object, something someone will take,
a face time will erase,
you won’t make it out here.
i try my best to make you see the misery;
it is in your best interest, but you turn your head
and tell me about roses and bullshit
that doesn’t matter, never did.
if you can’t see it
then know you will feel it
no, i feel my intestines
tangled again
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